SAY NOW 
SHIBBOLETH 

EUGENE MANLOVE RHODES 



Class 




Book , H ^/ ^ '^^ 
Copyright }^«_L?_^ 

COF^fRIGRT DEPOSrr. 



4 

The Little Bookfollow Series 



Say Now Shibboleth 



Other titles in this series : 

ESTRAYS; Poems by four Bookfellows, 
Thomas Kennedy, George Seymour. Vin- 
cent Starrett, and Basil Thompson. 

William De Morgan ; a Post-Victorian 
Realist, By Flora Warren Seymour. 

Lyrics, by Laura Blackburn. 

Candles in the Sun; Poems by William 
Griffith. 

Laureate Address, by John G. Neihardt. 
An address on the function of poetry in 
education, delivered on becoming Poet 
Laureate of Nebraska. 



Say Now Shibboleth 

By 

Eugene Manlove Rhodes 




CHICAGO 

THE BOOKFELLOWS 

1921 



Of this first edition, four Imndred copies Jmve been 
printed in the month of December, 19S1. Eugene Man- 
love Rhodes, the author, is Book fellow No. 95; Luther 
A. Brewer, the printer, is BooTcfellow No. 14. 

For permission to reprint the essay entitled King 
Charles's Head, acknowledgment is made to the Houghton 
Mifflin Company, wlw retain all rights to its repro- 
duction. 



) 
1^2 1 



Hn S3 



Copyright, 1921, by 
Flora Warren Seymour 



THE TORCH PRESS 

CEDAR RAPIDS 

IOWA 



JAN-/ 1922 

©ni.A653428 
-7 U » / 



CONTENTS 

Say Now Shibboleth 7 

King Charles's Head 37 

The Gentle Plagiarist 45 



SAY NOW SHIBBOLETH 
A Bit op Wordly Wisdom 

"7 will not tell you where he lived; too 

much 
Already has hee-n said: it would he 

spiteftd. 
Many unkind remarks are made hy such 
As live in places far, far less delightful. 
Be this enough: it may he plainly stated, 
His mind was very highly cultivated." 

While yet a small boy I was persuaded to 
earnest and painstaking study of language by 
hearing a report of a memorable examination. 
Some of you may have seen it : 

"And the Gileadites took the passages 
of Jordan before the Ephraimites ; and 
it was so, that when those Ephraimites 
which were escaped said, Let me go 
over; that the men of Gilead said unto 
him, Art thou an Ephraimite? If he 
said. Nay : Then said they unto him. Say 
now Shibboleth ; and he said Sibboleth ; 
for he could not frame to pronounce it 
right. Then they took him, and slew 
him at the passages of Jordan. ' ' 

They were purists, I take it. 
Forty-and-two thousand failed to pass. The 
Gileadites were a strong and vigorous stock. 



Their spiritual descendants still keep sleepless 
watch at the passes of Jordan. True, they do 
not now hold to the strict letter of the olden 
penalty for lingual error, but they observe the 
spirit of it. It is still so. 

There will be need now for care to avoid mis- 
eonstniction of the few and heartfelt ensuing 
remarks. Take the "shortened Italian a" for 
example ^ our old friend " a. " For my single 
self, I like that sound. One of my earliest ambi- 
tions was to have graven upon my tombstone 
this epitaph : ' ' Pass, traveler, nor ask who lies 
beneath the grass." 

I do not foolishly dote upon either "a" or its 
variant "a," you understand; but it seems to 
me that either of them is intrinsically a more 
pleasing sound than the flat "a" — as in this 
same word "flat." There are many who use this 
"Italian a" sound naturally. Also properly. 
In such cases it is good hearing. But when its 
use — or misuse — requires visible effort by tlie 
speaker and its delivery leaves him with a 
startled air — makes him gasp, in fact — the 
effect is spoiled. It has become a mincing affec- 
tation. And, in any case, I must and do hereby 
respectfully but firmly decline to consider that, 
if a man should ask me for a flask*, when h^ 
might say "flask," he is thereby branded by 
either moral turpitude or social impossibility. 
Nor will the reverse hold true. Yet we have seen 
the statement that "when a man speaks of a 
bath it may properly be inferred that he seldom 

* Ammonia : for snakebite. 



uses a bfith." — And he said Sibboleth. And 
they slew him. — You hear just such inferences 
every day, based on similar premises. 

It cannot be set forth too plainly, too early or 
too often, that the grievance ■which some of us 
hold against the Gileadite is not for what he 
says, but for the — objectionable — way he says 
it. He is frequently right in his contention. 
But wanton and offensive sneers do not precisely 
warm our heart to him or yet lead us to mend 
our ways. Just resentment for the precisian's 
contemptuous treatment of the erring but too 
often fosters a fond attachment for the error. I 
think these passwords will wither, most of them ; 
not because they deserve to perish, but because 
their proponents, with a singular want of tact, 
urge them by heaping vituperation, abuse and 
insult upon the luckless tribesman. There is an 
old injunction that we must "hate the sin and 
not the sinner." I fear we are in danger of 
reversing this by hating the virtue as well as 
the virtuous. We are joined to our idols ; let us 
alone. 

True, it is only a small minority of educated 
people that exhibits this Gileaditish spirit — else 
we uncultivated would grease the loud tumbrel 
and burn the colleges forthwith. But it is a 
voluble minority — a minority that loves to 
speak of itself as ''cultured." The disdain of 
this paroxysmal minority is not here exag- 
gerated. It can hardl}^ be exaggerated. Before 
we go on to consider some other test words, com- 
monly propounded at the passes of Jordan, let 

9 



me prove to you that this arrogance is past exag- 
geration. 

On my desk are three books. They are there 
by chance and not chosen to edge this feeble 
remonstrance. On the contrary, a careful second 
reading of them convinced me that it was high 
time some one rose to a point of order, like 
Abner Dean, of Angel's. For these books are 
typical of the Gileadite. If there were no more 
of their kind they might be attributed to per- 
sonal misfortune. But there are thousands of 
the kind ; and the kind is recklessly mischievous. 

The three authors are scholars and gentlemen 
of repute — one, at least, a name of nation-wide 
distinction. The books, one and all, are full of 
valuable and interesting matter, ably set forth; 
one and all, they are marred by unbelievable 
narrowness, by malignant rancor, by a haughty 
intolerance — not only for verbal error, be it 
marked, but for any usage differing from their 
own and for any mode of life not conforaiing to 
their habits. One book deals with English, 
severely; one with "Words; and the third is a 
Life of Lincoln. Let us now take a worm's-eye 
view of the Essays on English, by the chiefest 
among these three. 

You are at once struck by the frequent recur- 
rence of ''this sort of person" — our sort — and 
"enlightened" — his sort; in fact, he writes 
** Enlightened" with a capital after he gets well 
warmed to his work; "The Enlightened," who 
have a "sixth sense . . . and that sublimated 



10 



taste which makes of its possessors a very special 
class, ' ' 

"This sort of person is almost as low as the 
one . . . with whom men and women are always 
ladies and gentlemen." He explains about 
ladies and gentlemen, then, adding naively that 
these are matters that "the unenlightened will 
not understand, even after they have been ex- 
plained." So there's no need of puzzling our 
poor heads over it. There is one phrase that 
seems pretty plain, however: "Whereas, if a 
man says that he was lunching with a 'woman,' 
there is a dangerous little implication which could 
not exist did he use the word 'lady' instead." 

There is another little implication that might 
be made ; but let it pass. I must say, however, 
that some of us judge a man by his character as 
much as by his words ; and when a man 's charac- 
ter cannot stand the strain of lunching with a 
' ' woman, " he is in a parlous state. 

He has tolerant spells, however. "The slang 
of the clubs and of university men is also quite 
consistent with good taste." It may be men- 
tioned — but perhaps you have already guessed 
it — that he is notably a university man and a 
clubman. 

Just so. The metaphorical use of the phrases 
"to cross swords" and "to parry a thrust" are 
elegant, reminiscent of the days when homicide 
was a fashionable recreation. But the meta- 
phorical use of "bed-rock," "rolling-hitch," 
"cinch" and "balance" carry with them low 



11 



suggestions — of work, I do not wish to mis- 
represent our author or to garble his words. So 
I hasten to state that the distinctions made in 
this paragraph are quoted from another writer 
and that our own author may not approve of 
them. Judge for yourself. 

Here is a little extract in his happiest manner 
— and by this foot you may know Hercules. 

"A slight provincial touch is given by the 
frequent use of 'minister' instead of 'clergy- 
man,' and when one refers to a clergyman as a 
'preacher,' the case is hopeless." Nothing pro- 
vincial about that, is there ? Yet if one, hearing 
this single sentence and having no knowledge of 
the author save that sentence, could not go to 
the ten-acre map in the Pennsylvania Station 
and put his unhesitating finger within one inch 
of that author's home, one's case would then be 
hopeless indeed. 

"There is another provincial usage out of 
which it is to be hoped the American people will, 
in the course of time, be educated." — Did you 
get that? The usage of the American people is 
provincial ; the use of an insular or peninsular 
corner of America is not provincial. The part is 
greater than the whole. — "They" — newspaper 
men — "spoke of his wife, of course, as 'Mrs. Mc- 
Kinley,' but they always mentioned his aged 
mother as 'Mother McKinley.' This was pro- 
vincial and disgusting to a degree; and it is 
surprising that no one ever reverted to the dig- 
nified New England usage, which would have 
mentioned the dowager as 'Madam McKinley'." 

12 



There ! He told you himself ! I was afraid he 
would. Anyhow, I didn't tell. And we have 
gained one advantage. After this, we can have 
no doubt as to the exact meaning of the word 
"provincial." Anything is "provincial" that 
does not conform to New England usage. We 
have it from his own mouth. We are on firm 
ground now. 

* ' I should hardly have thought it necessary to 
recall this detestable bit of social ignorance," he 
proceeds, "had not President McKinley himself 
been guilty of it during a journey of his through 
the South. . . . Now this form of speech is not 
only crude and wholly alien to the little touches 
which give distinction, but its mental suggestions 
are unpleasant, since it is a form of speech that 
suggests Mother Goose and Mother Bunch, and 
brings to mind some w^rinkled, blear-eyed beldam 
— a wizened crone, a raucous hag." 

These be wild and whirling words, my mas- 
ters! It doesn't matter so much about us. You 
and I are no better than w^e should be, and our 
shoulders are broad. But Uncle John, and Aunt 
Mary, and IMother Anderson, who helped us 
when little Jimmie died — to have them and 
their speech held up to contempt and derision — 
it hurts, I tell you ! It rankles. They were kind 
and good and loving; they are not "disgusting" 
to our memories. Nor is Mother Goose, for that 
matter. 

If it is not long since clear that I, now 
remonstrating, am but a rude, crude, rough, low 
and brutal person, unmistakably plebeian — just 

13 



a plain, provincial American of no sublimated, 
very special caste — the fact is now expressly 
declared. I will also here state and proclaim 
that, if any healthy and sane he-Gileadite, be- 
tween the ages of twenty and fifty, not more than 
ten pounds lighter or over forty pounds heavier 
than myself, shall, in my presence, venture to 
direct his insolence at these kindly, dim-eyed 
Ephraimite kindred of mine, I'm going to hit 
him once. That's the sort of person I am. If I 
subsequently have to say "Good Mawnin', 
judge !" or "Doctor, how long do you s'pose it'll 
be before I can get around again?" — why, I'll 
try to say it cheerfully. 

Yes, sir. Not going to make any little declama- 
tion before I rebuke him, either. Folks that use 
that kind of wit should expect fitting repartee. 
He may strut and swell all he wants to, he may 
abuse me as long as it amuses him; but those 
"blear eyes" are faded with tears, those wrinkles 
are scars of Armageddon fight: he must teach 
his tongue to speak respectfully of them, or teach 
his hands to keep his head. It doesn't matter 
about the rest of us. Curiously enough, how- 
ever much a person of this sort looks down on us, 
we never look up to him ; it doesn 't occur to us. 

"Mother" called out all his rancor. Here is 
some more about it. Mr. McKinley said "mo- 
ther ' ' himself — ' ' Mother ' ' Hobson. ' ' And when 
Mr. McKinley adopted it, it was so out of keep- 
ing ... as to resemble the speech of one whose 
evenings in early youth were spent in some 
small, backwoods country 'store,' in the society 

14 



of those who pendulously dangle their loutish 
legs over the sides of an empty cracker barrel." 

Let us get back to earth. It may be well to 
remember that in just such a small countiy store 
Abraham Lincoln was wont to pendulously 
dangle his loutish legs; and that the work well 
done for their country and for all humanity by 
those who, in their early youth so dangled — 
pendulously dangled — their loutish legs in just 
such detestable places, so far outweighs anything 
done by dilettante, pendulously dangling their 
loutish legs from easy chairs in any club or any 
university, that none — not even themselves — 
have ever felt the necessity of comparison. 

By-the-way, how could one dangle his or her 
loutish legs except pendulously? I have pendu- 
lously dangled my loutish legs frequently, both 
from easy chairs and cracker barrels, empty or 
full — full cracker barrels, I mean — in large 
stores and small; but never, to my knowledge, 
have I dangled my loutish legs like a steeple, for 
instance, or a yardarm, or a nebular hj^pothesis. 
I must try it, sometime. Always to dangle one 's 
loutish legs pendulously shows deplorable lack of 
initiative. 

This saddens one. It is enough to sadden a 
dozen. If the net result of a college education 
is to have erected, by the toil of j'ears, and 
possibly by the self-denial of one's father and 
mother — of one's paternal and maternal ances- 
tors — a tall, giddy and tolerably useless pedes- 
tal, whereon one is to sit for the remainder of 
one's life in close observation of one's personal 

15 



pulchritude, like an introspective bronze Bud- 
dha, then, if sending our boys to college leads to 
such self-loving attitude, in Heaven's name let's 
not send 'em ! No — that would be a cowardly 
evasion. Foolish, too, remembering the millions 
of kindly folk who remain kindly, fair-minded, 
considerate and just, though educated. Rather 
let us club together, we rough men, to endow in 
every school Chairs of Common Sense and of 
The Relative Proportion of Things — and get the 
best men to fill them. 

The junior editor, reading this MS. as he 
dangles his loutish legs from the window-seat, 
says that I am all wrong ; that the critic doesn 't 
object to the word "mother," save as applied to 
dowagers, in lieu of ' ' madam. ' ' But I maintain 
that there is not and never can be anything 
"disgusting" in any use of the word mother; 
that it is the noblest and sweetest word in the 
language. "Mother is growing old," says a man 
of his wife; or, to her, "Mother, how long is it 
since Charley Hilman went West ? " So misused, 
the word is the final endearment. 

It is even conceivable that a general — a gen- 
eral who protected his soldiers against embalmed 
meats and pasteboard shoes and their own weak- 
ness, for example — might be called "mother" 
by campfires ; just as certain lewd fellows of the 
baser sort, who stood with Thomas at Chica- 
mauga, spoke of that gallant soldier as "Pap" 
Thomas. You would infer, in such a case, that 
"mother" was a symbol of trust and affection — 



16 



not of disgust or belittlement. But, if the gen- 
eral were called * ' Madam " . . . ? 

"A person who addresses a physician affably 
as 'Doc/ and who . . . will speak of him as 
being 'raised' in such-and-such a place — this is 
the sort of person who also . . . wears a cellu- 
loid collar and eats peas with a knife. ' ' 

]\Ossed me that time ! I never eat peas. But, 
if a man who wears celluloid collars addresses a 
physician affably as "Doc," what would a man 
who wears a flannel shirt be affably apt to call 
him ? Sawbones, maybe. Yet the best-loved man 
of this generation said, as he lay dying: "Pull 
up the curtain. Doc ; I 'm afraid to go home in 
the dark." 

' ' The unenlightened ' ' — ( and uncapitalized ) — 
' ' person .... may use the expression ' Between 
you and I,' just as he may, if he is very be- 
nighted, say 'You was.' These slips are to be 
expected from those . . . who describe a house- 
maid as 'the girl,' which is, of course, not quite 
so bad as to speak of her as 'the help,' but is, 
nevertheless, the linguistic earmark of a class — 
the class that splits its infinitives and thinks that 
Fonetik Refawm is scholarly." This is respect- 
fully referred to the Fonetik Refawmere, with 
the query whether a "help" is really a house- 
maid unless she wears a cap as a sort of badge of 
servility. 

"The enlightened person may, however, speak 
of 'those sort of things'." Here follows a list of 
things that an enlightened person may say, end- 



17 



ing with: "when very colloquial indeed, 'It is 
me ! ' " I judge that he does these permissible 
things himself, maybe. 

"A vulgarism, *-ha-ouse-' which, when they 
use it in the presence of a cultivated English- 
man, ranks them at once in his mind with the 
caddish and the ignorant." Caddishness and 
ignorance are one and inseparable, it seems. We 
had not known this. 

"Persons of this sort present as pathetic a 
spectacle to the Enlightened as do those who, in 
employing the broad "a" because it is so Eng- 
lish, introduce it ignorantly into words where the 
English never use it; saying, for example, 
'fawncy' for 'fancy,' in which the educated 
Englishman always sounds the "a" as flatly as 
any Philadelphian. ' ' Philadelphia is provincial, 
you see. Pretty much all the United States is 
provincial, south and west of a given point. As 
you now note, that point is north of Philadel- 
phia. My own idea is that the given point lies 
somewhere between Stepleton and St. George — 
or at the Statue of Liberty, maybe. That would 
be a good place to fix it. Even so, there would 
be many unrefined people within the pale. 

* ' To receive a letter containing such words as 
'Xrnas,' 'tho,' 'photo' and 'rec'd' affects one" — 
It affects one very badly indeed. I spare you the 
unpleasant details. Such letters "are usually 
written by the sort of men who sign their names 
in such abbreviated forms as 'Geo.,' 'Wm.,' 
'Chas.,' 'Jas.' and 'Jno.' " 

This is the method of Lady Grove, to quote 

18 



Mr. Chesterton : " To terrify people from doing 
quite harmless things by telling them that if they 
do they are the kind of people who would do 
other things, equally harmless. ' ' 

Let us look into this. I find, from the volume 
nearest at hand — and I mean by that the first 
and only work consulted — that of the fifty-five 
who pledged their lives, their fortunes and their 
sacred honor to the Declaration of Independence, 
no less than thirty signed with just such atro- 
cious and detestable contractions. That is the 
sort of persons they were. Jefferson signed ' ' Th., ' ' 
Franklin wrote it "Benja." Of the Constitution 
framers, the immortal Geo. did not even stop at 
Geo. He signed it "Go." — just like that! Sev- 
enteen of the thirty-nine followed his noxious 
example by other low abbreviations. One even 
stooped to "Dan'l." 

We are reminded of the devil demanding cre- 
dentials from Tomlinson — and that is another 
pathetic spectacle : 

" 'You have read, you have heard, you 

have thought,' quoth he. 
'God's mercy! what ha' y' doneV " 

You see plainly, Jas., that our author was 
trying to impose upon us merely his personal 
preference about ' ' Wm. ' ' and ' ' Chas. " It is not 
a matter of good taste or poor taste ; it is only 
a matter of his taste or your taste. It is not 
alwaj-s so easy to see that such is the case as in 
this instance ; but that is about what he aims at 
all along. Even when he is right, his ferocity 



19 



defeats his purpose — if his purpose were indeed 
to better our speech, which is hereby doubted. 
Take this paper, for instance — which might 
have been the most limpid Addisonian English, 
had it not been — were it not — only he got me 
all roiled up. 

Another little footprint. He says: 

"I have always felt a genuine admiration for 
those among my correspondents who write every- 
thing out in full ; as, for example, ' January the 
twenty-eighth', 'Seven hundred and sixty-three, 
Albemarle Avenue,' and so on. There is a 
certain aristocratic suggestion of leisure about 
this sort of thing that appeals to me and that 
is thoroughly consistent." 

You see? Nobility and gentry — that sort of 
thing. People of leisure, uncontaminated by 
work. 

I don't think I am unfair to this man. This 
book of his — which might otherwise have been 
valuable — is stained throughout by like narrow- 
ness and intolerance. 

Here is a bit of unconscious autobiography: 

"But who among us would not be willing to 
spend three hours a day in dining properly chez 
Voisin, rather than to save two hours and fifty- 
five minutes of that time by furtively gobbling 
a plate of corned-beef hash in a John Street 
beanery ? ' ' 

He spells it out in full, you notice — even John 
Street. There is a certain air of aristocratic 
leisure about this sort of thing that appeals to 
one — doesn't it? John Street, I gather, is a 

20 



very low place indeed. People work there, 
possibly. D,on't turn away, Wm. . , . Look me 
in the eye. I trust you have never furtively 
gobbled a plate of corned-beef hash in a Jno. St. 
beanery. I never have. But I will. If ever 
I find out where Jno. St. is — information is 
hereby requested — I will hie me to a beanery, 
pendulously dangle my loutish legs from a stool, 
and furtively gobble a plate of corned-beef hash. 
Just to preserve my self-respect. I do not like 
corned-beef hash. 

* * Very likely there are members of the Ameri- 
can Philological Association who habitually eat 
peas with their knives and perhaps drink out 
of finger bowls; but their example will hardly 
result in the establishment of a new social can- 
on." 

You mustn 't cross him ; he was raised a pet. 
He does not wait to find out your name, your 
station, your dwelling place or your destination 
— or even if you are a real person. A purely 
supposititious person who supposititiously fails 
to agree with his notions on any subject, however 
unimportant, is at once questioned as to motives, 
breeding, morals, family and color, and becomes 
the target for the cheap and easy satire which 
belittles its object less than it degrades the user ; 
and that displays precisely so much wit as is 
shown withal by pressing the tip of one's thumb 
to the tip of one's nose and wiggling one's de- 
risive fingers with a certain aristocratic sugges- 
tion of leisure. 

He doesn't like this Philological Association. 

21 



On questions of taste, he says, it is "entitled 
to speak with no more weight than the Ancient 
Order of Hibernians or the Knights of Labor." 
To prove it he tells this anecdote ; 

* ' Some time ago one of our most distinguished 
classical professors was asked why he never 
attended the meetings of the American Philologi- 
cal Association; and he replied, with an air of 
unutterable boredom: 'Oh, because, if I go, I 
shall have to meet so many persons who wear 
black trousers ! ' " 

This is conclusive. "We may now pass on to 
settle other vexed subjects. 

* * I used to open it and put it aside under the 
impression that it was a publication in the 
Magyar or Polish or Czechish tongue, brought 
out for the benefit of those interesting aliens 
who inhabit that portion of the country; and 
who, when they are not engaged in organizing 
strikes, amuse themselves by assassinating one 
another — .a most laudable occupation, in which 
I am sure no judicious person would ever be 
anxious to discourage them." 

It was not a publication in any of these 
tongues, mind you. That was merely his impres- 
sion. He was not discussing Magyars, Poles or 
Czechs. He was discussing simplified spelling. 
But he was not one to let his light be hidden 
under a bushel. Accordingly he abandoned his 
discourse to give us his profound and well-con- 
sidered views on those aliens and upon the labor 
question. 

And yet, Thos., there are times when I realize 

22 



how this sort of person feels, and sympathize 
with him. There is a Spanish adjective, 
"bronco," meaning rough, coarse, crusty, crab- 
bed, rude — and also hoarse, harsh to the ear. 
On the English tongue it becomes a noun, mean- 
ing a horse ; a rough, coarse, crusty, crabbed, 
rude and boisterous horse — a horse of no re- 
finement. And there is a sort of person who 
spells it ' ' broncho ' '. There are some ninety-nine 
millions of such persons in this country alone. 
Probably the secondary meaning of the word, 
of hoarse or harsh, deceived them. They seem to 
think that a bronco is a horse afflicted with 
bronchitis, hay fever, or phth — oh, well, asthma, 
then. It is very annoying to me that this ob- 
stinate, unreasonable ninety-nine million will 
persist in this provincial and disgusting usage, 
instead of conforming to the New Mexican stand- 
ard. I do not hesitate to infer, believe and 
aflSrm that this sort of person eats peas with his 
knife ; wears a celluloid collar and black trousers ; 
is guilty of perjury, piracy on the high seas, 
bribery and corruption; does not write out his 
name, date and address in full ; beats the hotels 
and his wife ; tips his glass but not the waiter ; 
gambles, wins ; quotes Mother Goose ; pendulous- 
ly dangles his legs and furtively gobbles a plate 
of comed-beef hash in a John Street beanery — 
and works, maybe ! 

If one turns one's eyes from the Astors and 
the little asteroids to consider carefully in what 
desert corner of the universe our petty pro- 
vincial system wanders darkling on the dim 

23 



frontier of chaos, a fleeting spark for one brief 
split-second of Eternity — one would hardly 
think it worth one's while to be such an insuf- 
ferable, unmitigated, complicated and complacent 
ass as I am about that * ' bronco ' ' word — would 
one? For consider, that in the worlds beyond 
Aldebaran and Antares they may not use the 
word bronco at all. Or madam, either. 

The book on Words is written in a more toler- 
ant spirit. It is fair to believe that the writer's 
honest purpose was to help his readers to better 
usage. But inherent superiority cannot be com- 
pletely suppressed. It peeps out: ''Abomin- 
able ; " " execrable ; " " ignoramus ; " "no one but 
a low fellow will say that;" "a vulgar collo- 
quialism befitting a clodhopper." 

A clodhopper is one who hops clods — in 
plowing. The term seems to be a euphemism for 
"farmer." That he who hops a clod is neces- 
sarily a low and despicable fellow is, for many, 
not the least of those truths which they hold to 
be self-evident. I think the inference is hasty. 
I think that never to have hopped a clod is but 
a negative virtue at best. I have known men 
who hopped clods with nimbleness and precision, 
but who, nevertheless, were estimable men, who 
personally knew what their own thoughts and 
opinions were without consulting the authorities 
or looking in the morning paper. 

His instruction is right in the main, but he 
slips sometimes. * ' View-point is the correct and 
elegant expression, unless we would counten- 
ance such vulgar words as washtub, cookstove 

24 



and the like." He does not give us the elegant 
word for washtub. I wish he had supplied it. 
I would like to get one. 

"The masses. This expression is thought by 
some to be as vulgar as the object it describes. ' ' 

Let us pass over the implausibility of such 
reference to some one hundred and nine and a 
half millions — some say more — of our people, 
as ''the object," or even "objects." For a 
question arises in our minds — if an object may 
be said to have a mind — whether this wholesale 
scorn is not at least as disrespectful to the Creat- 
or of that object, or objects, as to the object, or 
objects, which He created ? Either this sweeping 
disdain is unjustified or He erred in not calling 
expert advice before creating this object, or ob- 
jects. He might have heard of something to His 
advantage. 

On the whole, I believe "objects" is the better 
word. It seems to concede to us a certain amount 
of personal identity. 

Paste this in your hat, please. "Vulgar" 
means " of or pertaining to the mass or multitude 
of the people : common, general, ordinary, public ; 
hence, in general use : vernacular. ' ' The evil 
meaning attached to the word has been forced 
upon it by such scornful patricians as have felt 
it needful systematically to advise the world 
that they were not common or ordinary. That 
a word or a man is vulgar is no more proof that 
such word or man is vile than that a vulgar 
fraction is vile. A vulgar man may be object- 
ionable — but not because he is one of a 

25 



multitude of people. That is not a criminal 
matter. It is not even a matter for sorrow. 
When you meet a man overgiven to the use of 
"vulgar," in its deprecating sense, shun him. 
He is a Gileadite ; he will slay you. If it is not 
feasible to avoid him, at least let him do all the 
talking. Keep your mouth shut. You are safe 
then — unless you wear black trousers. 

"He married his wife in Honoulu. Well, 
such a man is only fit to live on some far sea- 
island." Far from — er — where? I wonder. 
What has the place where a man lives to do with 
his fitness? Where is the moral Meridian of 
Greenwich? Honolulu is no farther away from 
any place whatever — and I make no exceptions 
— than any place whatever is from Honolulu. 
I say it deliberately; and I will maintain it 
with my life. I seem to have a dim remember- 
ance of a parable wherein it is said: "I have 
married a wife, and therefore I cannot come." 
But the Giver of that parable lived in a far 
land Himself. 

Surely this is literalism gone mad. To 
"marry" originally meant to take a husband; 
time. It means to wed, now — and has meant 
just that any time these four centuries. There 
is no such thing as the "sanctity" of language: 
a word means what it means, not what is once 
meant or what it might mean. So cruelly to 
exile a man, or even a person, for using a word 
in its universally accepted sense throws a strong 
sidelight on the animus of the hyper-critic. 
True, in the strictest literal sense a man who 

26 



marries a wife thereby assists her to commit 
bigamy. A bride is not a wife until she is mar- 
ried. Theoretically, a man marries a maid, 
widow or divorcee; in practice we may say "he 
marries a wife" just as we say "he takes a wife." 
' ' Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of 
Canaan." No misunderstanding results. It 
seems hard to be consigned to outer darkness 
for using a term so convenient and so unambigu- 
ous. 

The Life of Lincoln, which we now take up, 
is in many respects a valuable work. Its useful- 
ness is heavily discounted by the opening pages, 
which are given to indiseriminating attack upon 
the threefold nature of the early settlers of 
Illinois and Indiana. The author imputes to 
them the lowest motives ; he puts the worst pos- 
sible construction on their every act. Lincoln 
himself does not escape rough handling; and as 
for his family, they are pursued with fire and 
sword — no city of refuge avails them. 

That the pioneers built log huts before build- 
ing palaces is a shameful thing; the forest was 
their personal misdemeanor; the privations of 
the foregoer are his reproach. Decency, cleanli- 
ness, morality, truthfulness, honor, common hon- 
esty, the author denies to them, directly or by 
implication. Indeed, of all possible virtues he 
grants them only two: "an ignoble physical 
courage" and "a sort of bastard contempt for 
hardship." These are his prudent words. For 
myself, I think that sort of bastard contempt for 
hardship would do nearly as well in a pinch as 

27 



a legitimate contempt for hardship, with a church 
register rampant tattooed on its torso. Honestly, 
don't you think he went out of his way to be 
offensive ? 

What sticks in his gizzard most, however, was 
that these men were migratory. He doesn't 
approve of that. He rings all the changes on 
this theme: "restless;" "shiftless vagrants;" 
"the natural idler;" "nomads;" "rovers;" 
"waifs and strays from civilized communities;" 
"adventurers," forever "moving on." He in- 
timates pretty strongly that they "moved on" 
to avoid paying their debts. He does not explain 
how they could have settled the West if they 
had stayed at home. He evidently thinks they 
might have been better employed. It is a pity. 
He blames them severely. "Wretched;" "brut- 
al;" " squalid ; " " frontier ruffians of the famil- 
iar type ; " " uncouth ; " " coarse ; " " vulgarity ; ' ' 
"utter lack of barriers establishing strata of 
society ' ' — these are but a few expressions culled 
from a dozen pages. 

I want to do a little inferring now. I feel that 
I have a right to infer a little. My inference is 
that this author has lived too long among the 
noble oaks and the solid citizens, many of whom 
have never left their native parish, that he has 
acquired a wrong notion of this matter. I do 
not know his birthplace, I do not here hazard 
a guess. But I think I could find him if I had to. 

There ! I have done the man an injustice. He 
does credit these people with another virtue — 
a notable one. He says: "Finding life hard, 

28 



they helped each other with a general kindli- 
ness which is impracticable amono; the complexi- 
ties of elaborate social organizations." 

We have noticed that. Our sort of objects 
seldom receive help or kindliness from really 
cultured people — or politeness, either. They 
invite us to say Shibboleth, generall3^ Then 
they slay us. 

The question naturally arises: Is a stratified 
society that finds kindliness and helpfulness im- 
practicable, really superior to a society in which 
kindliness and helpfulness are spontaneous and 
inevitable ? ( Cries of ' ' Good ! " ' ' Good ! " ) 

* * Troughs served for washtubs when washtubs 
were used." Exactly. It is difficult to imagine 
troughs serving for washtubs when washtubs 
were not used. That would have been a useless 
extravagance — as he would realize if he had 
ever hollowed out a log with an adze. But per- 
haps he meant that they did not wash their 
clothes. On examination, it is likely that such 
was indeed his meaning. People living so far 
away commonly do not wash their clothes. That 
is well known. 

" If a woman wanted a looking-glass she scour- 
ed a tin pan, but the temptation to inspect one's 
self must have been feeble. ' ' 

I think it is your turn to infer a little while, 
Thos. If, speaking of these thousands of brave 
dead women, he could not keep his puny malice 
from this bitterest sneer, how much mercy do you 
think he showed the men? He had never seen 
these women, remember. And they are dead 

29 



now. To be so ugly that the temptation to in- 
spect one's self was feeble — and one a woman, 
mind you ! — that is abnormal. It crushes one. 
Desecration can no further go. 

They were our grandmothers, Thos ; we hold 
that they were brave and pure and fair; their 
sons saved this nation. Let no one dream that 
we are gratified at this wanton insult. "We will 
not say his grandam was but withered. It 
would not be the speech of a gentleman. And 
we do not know. Let us confine ourselves to the 
facts and to the living. We will say of him 
that he is the sort of person who would say 
that sort of thing. That squares it up, I fancy. 

For myself, I deem and say that this stock 
was as good as any that ever came over in the 
Mayflower, loaded mast-high with Chippendale 
and Sheraton — well, furniture, anyhow. May- 
be it was Cloisonne and Valenciennes. I don't 
really know about furniture. Chippendale and 
Sheraton are lovely words, so I used them. 

The trouble with this sort of people is that they 
are that sort of people. They are puffed up with 
vainglory and presumption. A little astonished 
at themselves, too. They ignore the fact that 
language is a tool, made by those who use it — 
made by that use — and that it changes. They 
make no allowance for the growth of idiom, or 
for the modifications of a living tongue. Lan- 
guage is changed by modifying — never other- 
wise. Like other man-made instruments, lan- 
guage was at first more complicated than was 
needful. We have outgrown most of the cum- 

30 



brous and clumsy inflections now; we are 
simplifying the spelling in our slow, easy- 
going way, and have been simplifj-ing it for 
centuries: I think we shall simplify our pro- 
nunciation in time. The Greeks, when two letters 
came together in a word to make an ugly sound, 
systematically changed or dropped one of them 
to make a smooth and flowing sound. They had a 
beautiful and sonorous word for this euphonic 
process, too. I wish I could remember it. It is 
a bully word. Never mind — we are going to 
do the same thing. We are doing it. The 
dictionaries haven't caught up with us yet — 
that's all. 

Cultured people give the words oil, noise and 
boy, as 6-il, no-ise and bo-i, with a fur-lined 
mouth and the accent on the first sound — not 
exactly in two syllables, but, say, a syllable and 
a half ; ice, mine and by are rendered a-eece, mii- 
eene, ba-ee, with a pinched nose ; the more care- 
fully sheltered of them pronounce out, bound 
and now as thus: a-o5t, ba-66-nd, na- 
00, with the lips closed — accent as above. 

I think these elaborate pronunciations will die 
out after a while — not because they are not 
proper but because it is not convenient to frame 
to utter them. The last has now but few devoted 
adherents. 

The next to go, as I judge, will be the Norman 
"u" — except as an initial sound and in some 
of the easier combinations. "We can all pro- 
nounce "amusing" rightly enough. Lute, ex- 
cept as "loot," is too hard for us. This is a 

31 



relic of the attempt to foist Norman-French 
upon England. The old aristocratic flavor still 
clings to it. Duke, lute, new, as di-ook, li-oot, 
ni-oow, serve as social insignia, verbal straw- 
berry leaves. But the most enthusiastic practi- 
tioners of this admirable sound find it a difficult 
accomplishment. It will have to go, I think. 
We, the Ephraimites, the masses, the bourgeoisie, 
hoi polloi, the plebeians — the workers, in fact — 
desire it. We cannot frame to utter these dis- 
tinguished words. — Good word that, bourgeoisie 
— eh ? A bit difficult to frame it, however. A 
bourgeois, I gather, is one who supports him- 
self by his own exertions and doesn't put on 
airs. 

When a person approaches you with one of 
these linguistic feats, observe him closely. If he 
is pale, breathless, astonied, shun him. It is 
fair to say that many excellent people use any 
or all of these sounds — naturally, unconsciously 
and without consternation. This warning — and 
these comments — are not for them. 

Fictionists will lose a valuable asset when the 
Norman "u" sound is abandoned. It is an old 
standby. You seldom read a story by a young 
writer without hitting upon "literachoor" or 
"literatoor." The thing interests him and he 
has but lately learned how one in his station in 
life should pronounce the word. ' ' Brootal, ' ' too. 
Brootal seldom fails to win a smile. "Noo 
York" is another mirthmaker. And there is 
unfailing merriment in ''calling" the midday 
meal ''dinner." 

32 



Some novelists and storj^-tellers are offensive 
in their dialect writing. Others use precisely 
the same phonetics without hurting any one. 
It depends upon the spirit in which the spelling 
is done. If the context is marked by haughty 
superiority, pride, disdain, arrogance and con- 
tempt, it is probable that no kindness is meant 
by the dialect, James Wliitcomb Riley has 
grieved no Indiana heart by his loving mockery. 

(Just a word of digression, boys and girls of 
literatoor: "WHien your illiterate writes a letter, 
and you print it in your text, please do not 
permit him to keep up that dialect in that letter 
with a proper apostrophe in each fitting place. 
It isn't consistent; it isn't sensible; it isn't ar- 
tistic. It is a blemish. We've all seen this done 
— too often. jManage to have him misspell with- 
out his own knowledge of it — surreptitiously, 
as it were). 

"We'll skip three or four French and German 
sounds, produced by holding the vocal organs 
rigidly in position for the sound of one letter 
and then trying to give the sound of some other 
letter — not any other letter, you understand ; 
some particular letter. The resultant disaster 
will be the required sound — perhaps. Let us 
hurry on. 

There are place-Shibboleths over which there is 
much ink shed. Such a word is ''gallery." 
Why is "gallerj-" taboo? It is of good and 
direct lineage, French and Spanish; brought 
here by French and Spanish settlers in Louisi- 



33 



ana. Why are porch, portico, piazza and the 
Dutch "stoop" admitted, while "gallery" is so 
rigorously barred? Answer: It is the "favor 
of makers. " It is because New Orleans has pro- 
duced few lexicographers. 

One more, and we are done. "Creek" is, I 
believe, pronounced "creak" in lexicographer- 
land. I am entirely willing to pronounce it that 
way. Most of our millions, however, pronounce 
it "crik." That does not prove that this is a 
better way to pronounce it ; it only proves that 
it is pronounced that way. Also, that it will 
probably continue to be pronounced that way. 
"Been" was once pronounced "bean". It is 
not, now, "Wliy? Because the dictionaries 
changed? I rede j^ou, Nay. The dictionaries 
changed, for that a perverse and stiff-necked 
generation provincially pronounced it "bin" — 
because they wanted to, maybe; or perhaps be- 
cause it is a little easier to say. That is a way 
dictionaries have. A dictionary does not create ; 
it records. It is not a master ; it is a tool. When 
we seriously decide that we want to have a tool 
changed, we change that tool. 

So let us not be unduly hurt or angered by 
these continual little slurs and slings at our man- 
ners and our hopes and our people, Thos. To- 
night, as we furtively gobble our plates of corn- 
ed-beef hash, let us laugh over it. We have had 
our little say; we are just a trifle sheepish over 
our own blatant vindictiveness — a little asham- 
ed of the childish perversity with which we cling 
to our sins. 

34 



"We can afford to smile. The future is oui-s — 
yes, and the present, too. "The real language 
of a people is the spoken word, not the written." 
AVe can forgive even the Gileadite, if he will 
only show a little respect for helpless age and for 
the dead. For us — the living — let him scold. 
Poor fellow, he is beaten. He is conscious, too, 
that his class has never done that part of the 
world's work for which it has been fitted by its 
splendid opportunities. His class has been too 
much engrossed hitherto. But I think it will do 
its part, and do it nobly, sometime. I think 
that time is drawing near. Heaven speed the 
day! 

Have I any ' ' constructive program ? " I have ; 
a simple one — not, I think, unreasonable; but 
it is not new. When pointing out to us our 
verbal faults, our teachers are under no bond 
to make and publish morose inferences as to our 
complexion, age, clothes, weight, height, disposi- 
tion or ultimate destination. In noteworthy 
books dealing with the subject — and they are 
needed, for our errors are not right and our 
deficiencies are not accomplishments — you may 
find such phrases as these : This term is better 
than that one; This word is incorrect; That 
is not the preferred usage ; Avoid this error. 
And for more emphasis : This blunder is only 
too common, but it cannot be justified ; This 
usage is indefensible — care should be taken to 
avoid it. The authors of such books make no 
mention of our vices, our sins, our crimes, our 
bad manners or our clothes — judging, possibly, 

35 



that we are sufficiently informed on those sub- 
jects. They confine themselves to the use or 
misuse of words and leave us to adjust those 
other matters with our God and our tailor. 



ac 



KING CHARLES'S HEAD 

.... Beyond was a wide valley of cleared 
and irrigated farm lands. This was Garfield 
settlement. 

You remember Mr. Dick, and how he could 
not keep King Charles's head out of his Memor- 
ial? A like unhappiness is mine. "When I re- 
member that pleasant settlement as it really 
was, cheerful and busy and merry, I am forced 
to think how gleefully the super-sophisticated 
Sons of Light would fall afoul of these friendly 
folk — how they would pounce upon them with 
jeering laughter, scoff at their simple joys and 
fears; set down, with heavy and hateful satis- 
faction, every lack and longing; flout at each 
brave makeshift, such as Little Miss Brag crow- 
ed over, jubilant, when she pointed with pride : 

For little Miss Brag, she lays much stress 
On the privileges of a gingham dress — 
A-ha-a! 0-ho-o! 

A lump comes to my throat, remembering; 
now my way is plain ; if I would not be incom- 
parably base, I must speak up for my o^^^l 
people. Now, like Mr. Dick, I must fly my 
kite, with these scraps and tags of Memorial. 
The string is long, and if the kite flies high it 

37 



may take the facts a long way; the winds must 
bear them as they will. 

Consider now the spreading gospel of despair, 
and marvel at the power of words — noises in 
the air, marks upon paper. Let us wonder to 
see how little wit is needed to twist and distort 
truth that it may set forth a lie. A tumble- 
bug zest, a nose pinched to sneering, a slurring 
tongue — with no more equipment you and I 
could draw a picture of Garfield as it is done in 
the fashion of to-day. 

Be blind and deaf to help and hope, gay 
courage, hardship nobly borne; appeal to envy, 
greed, covetousness ; belaud extravagance and 
luxury ; magnify every drawback ; exclaim at 
rude homes, simple dress, plain food, manners 
not copied from imitators of Europe's idlesse; 
use ever the mean and mocking word — how 
easy to belittle! Behold Garfield — barbarous, 
uncouth, dreary, desolate, savage and forlorn; 
there misery kennels, huddled between jungle 
and moaning waste ; there, lout and boor couch 
in their wretched hovels! We have left out 
little; only tlie peace of mighty mountains far 
and splendid, a gallant sun and the illimitable 
sky, tingling and eager life, and the invincible 
spirit of man. 

Such picture as this of Garfield comme il faut 
is, I humbly conceive, what a great man, who 
trod earth bravely, had in mind when he wonder- 
ed at "the spectral unreality of realistic books." 
It is what he forswore in his up-summing : ' ' And 



38 



the true realism is ... to find out where joy 
resides and give it a voice beyond singing:." 

This trouble about Ciiarles the First and our 
head ... it started in 1645, I think — needs 
looking into. 

There are circles where ** adventurer" is a 
term of reproach, where "romance" is made 
synonym for a lie, and a silly* lie at that. 
Curious ! The very kernel and meaning of 
romance is the overcoming of difficulties or a 
manly constancy of striving; a strong play push- 
ed home or defeat well borne. And it would 
be hard to find a man but found his own life 
a breathless adventure, brief and hard, with ups 
and downs enough, striving through all defeats. 

Interesting, if true. But can we prove this? 
Certainly ; by trying. Mr. Dick sets us all right. 
Put any man to talk of what he knows best — 
corn, coal or lumber — and hear matters throb- 
bing with the entrancing interest born only of 
first-hand knowledge. Our pessimists "suspect 
nothing but what they do not understand, and 
they suspect everything" — as w^as said of the 
commission set to judge the regicides who cut 
off the head of Charles the Martyr — whom I 
may have mentioned, perhaps. 

Let the dullest man tell of the thing he knows 
at first hand, and his speech shall tingle with 
battle and luck and loss, purr for small comforts 
of cakes and ale or sound the bell note of clean 
mirth ; his voice shall exult with pride of work, 
tingle and tense to speak of hard-won steeps, the 



39 



burden and heat of the day and ' ' the bright face 
of danger ; " it shall be soft as quiet water to tell 
of shadows where winds loiter, of moon magic 
and far-off suns, friendship and fire and song. 
There will be more, too, which he may not say, 
having no words. We prate of little things, 
each to each; but we fall silent before love and 
death. 

It was once commonly understood that it is 
not good for a man to whine. Only of late has 
it been discovered that a thinker is superficial 
and shallow unless he whines; that no man is 
wise unless he views with alarm. Eager propa- 
ganda has disseminated the glad news that 
everything is going to the demnition bowwows. 
Willing hands pass on the words. The method 
is simple. They write long books in which they 
set down the evil on the one side — and nothing 
on the other. That is ''realism," Whatsoever 
things are false, whatsoever things are dishonest, 
whatsoever things are unjust, whatsoever things 
are of ill report; if there be any vice, and if 
there be any shame — they think on these things. 
They gloat upon these things; they wallow in 
these things. 

The next time you hanker for a gripping, 
stinging, roaring romance, try the story of Ed- 
dystone Lighthouse. There wasn't a realist on 
the job — they couldn't stand the gaff. For any 
tough lay like this of Winstanley's dream you 
want a gang of idealists — the impractical kind. 
It is not a dismal story; it is a long record of 
trouble, delay, setbacks, exposure, hardship, 
40 



death and danger, failure, humilation, jeers, dis- 
aster and ruin. Crippled idealists were common 
in Plymouth harbor. The sea and the wind 
mocked their labor; they were crushed, frozen 
and drowned; but they built Eddj'stone Lijrht! 
And men in other harbors took heart again to 
build great lights against night and storm; the 
world over, realists fare safelier on the sea for 
Winstanley's dream. 

There is the great distinction between realism 
and reality: It is the business of a realist to 
preach how man is mastered by circumstances; 
it is the business of a man to prove that he will 
be damned first. 

You may note this curious fact of dismal books 
— that you remember no passage to quote to 
your friends. Not one. And you perceive, with 
livel}' astonishment, that despairing books are 
written by the fortunate. The homespun are 
not so easily discouraged. When crows pull up 
their corn they do not quarrel with Creation. 
They comment on the crows, and plant more 
corn. 

This trouble in King Charles' head may be 
explained, in part, on a closer looking. As for 
those who announce the bankruptcy of an in- 
solvent and wildcat universe, with no extradition, 
and who proclaim God the Great Absconder — 
they are mostly of the emerged tenth. Their 
lips do curl with scorn ; and what they scorn 
most is work — and doers. For what they deign 
to praise — observe sir, for yourself, what they 
uphold, directly or by implication. See if it 

41 



be not a thing compact of graces possible only 
to idleness. See if it be not their great and fatal 
mistake that they regard culture as an end in 
itself, and not as a means for service. Aris- 
tocracy? Patricians? In a world which has 
known the tinker of Bedford, the druggist's 
clerk of Edmonton, the Stratford poacher, back- 
woods Lincoln, a thousand others, and ten thou- 
sand — a carpenter's son among them? 

Returning to the Provisional Government: 
Regard its members closely, these gods ad in- 
terim. The ground of their depression is that 
everybody is not Just like Them. They have a 
grievance also in the matter of death; which 
might have been arranged better. It saddens 
them to know that so much excellence as theirs 
should perish from the earth. The skeptic is 
slacker, too ; excusing himself from the hard- 
ships of right living by pleading the futility of 
effort. 

Unfair? Of course I am unfair; all this is 
assumption without knowledge, a malicious im- 
putation of the worst possible motives, judgment 
from a part. It is their own method. 

A wise word was said of late : ' ' There are poor 
colonels, but no poor regiments." It would be 
truer to change a word; to say that there are 
poor soldiers, but no poor regiments. The 
gloomster picks the poorest soldier he can find, 
and holds him up to our eyes as a sample. 
' ' This is life ! ' ' says the pessimist, proud at last. 
"Now you see the stuff your regiments are made 
of!" 

42 



If one of these pallbearers should write a 
treatise on pomologj' he would dwell lovingly 
on apple-tree borers, blight and pest and scale. 
He would say no word of spray or pruning ; he 
would scoff at the glory of apple blossoms as 
the rosy illusion of romance ; and he would reso- 
lutely suppress all mention of — apples. But he 
would feature hard cider, for all that; and he 
would revel in cankerworms. 

These blighters and borers — figuratively 
speaking — when the curse of the bottle is upon 
them — the ink bottle — they weave ugly words 
to ugly phrases for ugly books about ugly things ; 
with ugly thoughts of ugly deeds they chronicle 
life and men as dreary, sordid, base, squalid, 
paltry, tawdry, mean, dismal, dull and dull 
again, interminably dull — vile, flat, stale, un- 
profitable and insipid. No splendid folly or 
valiant sin — much less impracticable idealisms, 
such as kindness, generosity, faith, forgiveness, 
courage, honor, friendship, love ; no chann or 
joy or beauty, no ardors that flame and glow. 
They show forth a world of beastliness and bank- 
ruptcy ; they picture life as a purposeless hell. 

I beg of you, sir, do not permit yourself to be 
alarmed. What you hear is but the backdoor 
gossip of the world. And these people do not 
get enough exercise. Their livers are torpid. 
Some of them, poor fellows, are quite sincere — 
and some are merely in the fashion. It isn't 
true, you know; not of all of us, all the time. 
Nothing is changed; there is no shadow but 
proves the light; in the furthest world of any 

43 



universe, in the latest eternity you choose to 
mention, it will still be playing the game to run 
out your hits; and there, as here, only the 
shirker will lie down on the job. 

In the meantime, now and here, there are two 
things, and two only, that a man may do with 
his ideals: He may hold and shape them, or 
tread them under foot ; ripen or rot. 

What, sir, the hills are steep, the sand heavy, 
the mire is Despond-deep ; for that reason will 
you choose a balky horse ? Or will you follow a 
leader who plans surrender? 

The bookshelviki have thrown away the sword 
before the fight. They shriek a shameful mes- 
sage : ' ' All is lost ! Save yourselves who can ! ' ' 

The battle is sore upon us ; true. But there is 
another war cry than this. It was born of a 
bitter hour; it was nobly boasted, and brave 
men made it good. Now, and for all time to 
come, as the lost and furious fight reels by, men 
will turn and turn again for the watchword of 
Verdun : ' ' They shall not pass ! They shall not 
pass!" 

Pardon the pontifical character of these re- 
marks. They come tardy off. For years I have 
kept a safe and shameful silence when I should 
have been shouting, "Janet! Donkeys!" and 
throwing things. I will be highbrow-beaten no 
longer. I hereby resign from the choir inaudible. 
Modesty may go hang and.prudence be jiggered ; 
I wear Little Miss Brag's colors for favor; I 
have cut me an ellum gad, and I mean to use it 
on the seat of the scorner. 

44 



THE GENTLE PLAGIARIST 

A Posthumous P^vper 

]\Iost writer-folk are nervous. They are not 
writers because they are nervous : they are nerv- 
ous because they are writers. And to be pain- 
fully aware, on February twenty-ninth, that one 
must, b}' writing, procure $289.32 on or before 
March thirty-first, makes it possible and probable 
that he will not even raise the thirty-two cents. 

It is because of this paralyzing effect of fixed 
pajTnents upon the human mind, or certainly 
upon m.y mind, that I have now hit upon the 
happy idea of writing a series of papers, and 
laying them by to eke out my life-insurance 
after my death. 

There are many advantages in this scheme, 
besides the obvious one that if I had sold these 
papers while — or whilst — I yet lived, I should 
doubtless have spent the money long ago. First, 
the missus will probably get more of that good 
money for the MSS than I could possibly have 
got. For that particular brand of ]\ISS she 
will have the market cornered, and if there is 
any demand at all she may make quite advan- 
tageous terms. I can find it in my heart to hope 
that she will be very austere. Second, I may 
cheerfully say "I" when "I" is what I mean 
without clumsy subterfuge or foolish circumlo- 

45 



cution. It is one of the many advantages of be- 
ing dead — perhaps the greatest advantage — 
that you do not have to be modest. In some ways 
it was very tiresome to be alive. 

Third, I may use the humble parenthesis when 
I see fit; I will be at liberty to fearlessly split 
infinitives or tensed verbs : last and best, I shall 
not have to read the proofs. 

I think I shall write a little about writing, for 
two reasons — neither of which reasons is that 
I have anything particularly new or valuable to 
say. But I have reason to believe that most read- 
ers are writing, or are going to write, or think 
they are going to write. 

There is everything in a name, no matter what 
Verulam says. 

Take the Republican Party of today. So long 
as one faction submits to be branded as Insur- 
gents or even as Progressives, while the other 
wing is triumphantly known as Republicans, 
"Standpatters," or the "Old Guard," we may 
expect no great changes. But when the radicals 
shall be known as Republicans and the conserva- 
tives are called the "Non-Progressives," then 
we shall hear tidings. 

Wlien the United States can plagiarize the 
Filipinos and get the transaction whitewashed as 
assimilation, while the writer who really assimi- 
lates another man's thought, makes it a part of 
himself, recoins it and utters it again, will be 
called a plagiarist — (unless indeed, he is a gen- 
ius) — I trust we can see that the name of a 
tiling is a question of the very first importance. 

46 



Observe that I am not writing of men of 
genius. No one will accuse the genius of plagiar- 
ism. No one — not even Thomas Fleming Day — 
will accuse Mr. Kudyard Kipling of plagiarism. 
I suppose the man does not live who would not 
think it an honor to have Mr. Kipling plagiarize 
from him. 

Plagiarism is an ugly word. I mean now the 
word as a word, not the thing. The sound of it is 
intrinsically ugly, only less hateful than the hide- 
ous no-word "pants." And no one can pos- 
sibly spell plagiarism without a dictionary. 

What curious things men do! We used to 
write with pens, and then we spelled the word 
' ' received, ' ' in full, by means of making " e " and 
"i" exactly alike and putting the dot half way 
between the two letters. But with the advent of 
the typewriter this evasion will no longer serve. 
Now we spell it "rec'd." 

Here's another funny thing. Mr. Jones, a 
tired business man — every business man is a 
Tired Business Man nowadays, and it is for his 
Weariness that musical and other comedies must 
be silly — dictates his letters. As the stenog- 
rapher does not usually know the full name and 
address of the correspondent, ]\rr. Jones gives 
that as a preliminary both to save time and as 
a precaution against forgetting to give it at all. 
Hence the formal superscription : 

Mr. James Estivick Smith 
Kennebec, 
Me. 
Dear Sir: 

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This is sensible enough, so far. But, from 
habit, Mr. Jones uses the same form of super- 
scription when he does the writing himself — 
(with, perhaps, "My dear Mr. Smith," or "Dear 
Jim," instead of "Dear Sir,") — although the 
form is then meaningless, since he knows the ad- 
dress without such note. And Thompson, who 
has no stenographer, and has never dictated a 
letter, uses the same formal, commercial super- 
scription — because Jones does ! 

We are all the slaves of habit. We do things 
every day, merely from the force of habits whose 
origin we have never known. 

You have noted that unless the larger horse of 
a team were driven on the off side you are an- 
noyed or even distressed? This is, of course, 
because your heart is on j^our left side. You 
may say that it is because you are used to that 
particular arrangement of horses: but did you 
ever ask yourself why the larger horse is har- 
nessed upon the right side ? Let us follow it up : 
it is interesting. 

It is because, not so very long since, we had a 
postilion to drive for us, who rode one of the 
horses. It was his habit to hitch the smaller horse 
on the left hand side, because it is easier to get on 
a small horse than on a larger one — and because 
it was the habit to mount a horse from the left 
side. 

The habit of getting on a horse from the left 
side was formed because men had the habit of 
wearing the sword upon the left side : therefore 
to get upon a horse from the right side while 

48 



wearing a sword, was not practical ; one 's sword 
would get tangled between one 's legs. The habit 
of wearing the sword on the left side rather than 
on the right was formed because most men were 
habituall}^ right-handed ; and so could draw 
easier and quicker from a scabbard on the left. 
The habit of being right-handed was formed so 
that the heart might not be easily reached by the 
opposing sword : and the sword habit was partly 
because man is a fighting animal, and partly 
because he was clever enough to invent something 
better than teeth and claws to fight with. 

We might easily go further and inquire how 
man acquired the clever habit of thinking — but 
that would be to set reason to explain itself, a 
horrible habit, fortunately confined to philos- 
ophers. 

That chain of thought seems fairly clear ; but 
we are not always so fortunate. Every one knows 
why Friday is an unlucky day and thirteen an 
unluckj^ number, especially the legally hanged; 
but who has found the mystical bond between 
the white horse and the red-headed girl? Yet 
there must have been some reason for this fortun- 
ate fact. Come to think of it, the colors go well 
together. 

Reason assures us that waiters wear evening 
dress because, yesterday or day before, the 
master was attended by his own man, and the 
man wore the master's cast-off clothing; but 
reason throws no light on why the master ever 
wore evening dress in the first place. Doubtless 
there is some arbitrary historical cause ; but it is 

49 



not likely that reason ever had anything to do 
with evening dress. Perhaps it is of Puritan 
origin, a species of penance for the sins of the 
flesh: perhaps it was originally a symbol of 
devilworship. 

Returning to our black sheep. — When I was 
alive, it so often distressingly happened that 
when I had finished writing a little passage and 
saw that it was good, I must needs cry out, 
** There's that beast Kipling again!" — having 
discovered that I was once more the victim of a 
too tenacious memory. To be sure, I could 
change the phrase from "a contemporary of 
Nineveh and Tyre" for instance, to "a contem- 
porary of Damascus and Arpad ; ' ' but the phrase 
was none the less stolen for being spoiled, and I 
was naturally resentful. Therefore, it is easy to 
see why Mr. Kipling is associated with plagiar- 
ism in my mind, because he has so frequently 
been the plagiarzee — if I may coin a needed 
word. 

There is a great deal more of this unconscious 
stealing going on than you wot, and I think that 
no one would be more surprised than some of 
the guilty parties, who were innocently unaware 
of it. 

I have had the opposite experience too, more 
than once, and have gravely cut out a good 
phrase under the impression that it was loot, to 
find out, too late for publication, that it was of 
my own authentic make ; to say nothing of the 
numberless cases when I was in doubt, but tacked 
on quotation marks to be on the safe side. Curi- 

50 



ously enough, I once had plagiarism thrust upon 
me. I used a quotation, with perfectly good quo- 
tation marks in the MSS. These were cut out in 
galley sheets. Twice, I nobly restored them in 
the proofs ; yet the quotation marks were rigor- 
ously suppressed, and the booty was finally 
pi'inted without them, to my great joy. 

To plagiarize a man is the surest way as well 
as the commonest way to disseminate his princi- 
ples. If you but plagiarize him often enough, 
you make him immortal, and then you cannot 
plagiarize him at all. He has become part of the 
common stock. Do your utmost and you only 
succeed in making a happy allusion. You cannot 
plagiarize the Decalogue, or Shakespeare, or the 
Gettysburg Address. Thus, if you have only 
written something worth while in the first place, 
the plagiarist is your best friend. 

For, you may cheat, swindle, defraud and steal 
in merely material ways and walk unsuspected, — 
honored, anyway. Cases have been known where 
a box-car has been stolen, or even a whole rail- 
road, and no one the wiser. But the one theft 
that you cannot commit with impunity is the 
literary theft. It is not only always detected ; it 
is always detected immediately. True, it is seldom 
exposed, unless by officious third persons. The 
wise writer is delighted with this proof of merit ; 
the unwise writer is, commonly, at least prudent 
enough to let sleeping dogs lie, to ware the deadly 
parallel column. 

One cowardly and popular device is to con- 
vey a striking sentiment or a striking phrase by 

51 



making one of your characters, A or Y, use it in 
his speech. Thus, if the transfer passes unnoted 
you get credit for originality: whereas if it is 
noticed, you still get credit for cleverness in 
making your man A, or your man Y, so well read 
and so humanly consistent. This is obviously the 
safest form of literary theft. But it is a base 
and unworthy evasion, showing the same mean- 
ness of spirit involved in making hedge-bets. I 
seldom resort to it myself. My talent lies more 
along the lines of plain piracy. 

One thing more about quotations. If you are 
trying to convince, in a subtle argument where 
closest attention is desired, quotation marks are 
prone to distract attention from the vital matter 
of what is said to the irrelevant matter of who 
said it first. It is often advisable to give the 
weighty passage enforcing (or causing) your 
views, without the quotation marks; and then, 
after you have made your point, you may cite 
the authority who supplied you with your mas- 
terstroke. With a little practice you also can 
acquire the habit of forgetting to name your 
authority. 

If strictly original work were printed in the 
normal way, and borrowed or worked-over ma- 
terial punished and proclaimed by red ink, litera- 
ture would be one vast red Pacific, sparsely dot- 
ted by barren islets of black. 

To remold a thought, inspired by enthusiasm 
and admiration — that beneficent process can- 
not be stopped without stopping all thought. 
It is needful, however, to cast into the crucible 

52 



one new ingredient — yourself. Be you never 
so light of weight, if you add yourself to the 
alloy, you are making a legitimate scientific 
experiment, even though it may be a futile one. 
But if you do not put yourself into the remold- 
ing, you are merely melting down your loot, 
silver curiously carven, into unrecognizable 
bullion, for the sake of an ignominious safety. 
When you do this you are not merely a thief. 
You are also a wastrel. 

Lest I forgot when I write my foiih-coming 
paper. Notebooks and the Artistic Temperament, 
let me now urge my little friend Legion to ex- 
ercise great caution in taking down the bright 
sayings of his friends for future use. It is 
not safe. They have such an abominable habit 
of cribbing their bright sayings from books. 

Now for the application. It is commonly 
said to my little friend Legion: Read the great 
writers for style. But I say to him : Read the 
great dead masters for ideas. Devour them, 
Fletcherize them, digest, assimilate, make them 
part of your blood; let the enriched blood visit 
your brain. The resultant activities will be 
fairly your own, and the little kinks and 
convolutions of your brain, which are entirely 
different from the kinks of any other brain, 
will furnish you all the style you will ever get. 

There are no really fresh ideas; just as there 
is not any fresh air. Air and ideas are refreshed 
and refreshing, vitalized and vitalizing; but 
the thoughts have been thought before and the 
air has been breathed before. 

53 



Note, however, that I advise to read the great 
dead writers for this purpose. This is for two 
reasons. The great dead writers will not protest, 
and there are not many great ones living. For 
what few there are, they are not apt to protest : 
but they would make note of it privately and 
think coldly of you, 

I find that I have not been quite honest about 
my reasons for writing this paper, I am keen 
about the life insurance feature, right enough. 
But neither will I be sorry to be remembered — 
kindly, I hope — for a fleeting second. Then 
surely, like Gaffer and Granny Tyl in The 
Bluebird, we live again, we dead, when we are 
remembered ; we move dimly in the spinning 
mist and smile our love at you. 

It is curious to think how highly you would 
value the slightest word from me from where 
I am now. Yet, could you really question me, 
it is like you would ask me about some utterly 
trivial thing, just as I, could I get word from 
you, would probably ask you about baseball 
championships or presidential elections or some 
equally unimportant matter. For the fact that 
I still existed would of itself answer the one 
Important Question; just as the great thing 
with you is not whether you are a Shakespeare 
or a coalheaver, which is a slight and superficial 
matter. The great thing is, that you exist at 
all. That is the one incredible miracle. 

As a matter of fact, what I feel just now is 
not regret so much as curiosity as to how it 
happened. Cyrano wished to die upon a hero's 

54 



sword. We have few conveniences for such exit 
now. We are reduced, broadly speaking, to 
dying of sickness, mental error, adulterated 
food, doctors of an experimental turn, or motor- 
cars. Personally, I hope that it was not a 
motor-car, or at least that it was not an intoxi- 
cated motor-car. The idea of being killed by 
an intoxicated motor-car has always been dis- 
tastful to me. 

Postscript 

Owing to the disgusting and heartless impor- 
tunities of my creditors, especially of the in- 
surance company, I have been compelled, most 
reluctantly, to modify my original plan and to 
dispose of these papers now. This leaves me 
in a false position, which I feel keenly, and I 
trust you will share my regret. 



55 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




